Seven of Cups - the Elf-King's Daughters

It’s cello weather. The sky is white and very low, the mountains lost in cloud. The river is black and the snow on the black trees is dripping. It’s an almost monochrome world, perhaps like living inside a liquid pearl. The immediate response is light – lamps, stove, fireplace. The holidays are over, the light is slowly but perceptibly creeping back, the Christmas decorations are put away, along with the presents, and life feels clean and empty, maybe a little sad.

The new year feels a bit like a new and empty book, a gift from someone we feel we ought to love but aren’t sure we do. Writing in the book feels what, feels fake somehow, like walking away from the truth. Blank pages in an empty book may be more truthful than anything we can say or live – the cool empty hiss of the white page, like white noise, unlived life. The latent may always be more truthful than the manifest, no?

This is the world of the seven of cups, everything melting into everything else. The truest path right now is the one we don’t see. Moving, almost featureless, the outer world is best left to its own devices – don’t grab, don’t define, don’t strain your eyes looking into the moving grey mist. Come home and light the lamps. The Elf King’s daughters are dancing out there in the mist; you may hear their voices, but it’s generally best not to try and catch them.

If you stay home the seven of cups will make your hearth bright, your fire steady. The seven of cups, like water itself, is a great transmitter of sound. And if you release into music right now you may find something you hadn’t realized you were looking for.